A Bad Idea
by JamiW
Summary: Kind of a fill-in-the-blanks and post-ep for Home Invasions.


**A/N: Concurrent / Post – ep for Home Invasions (some dialogue pulled directly from the show)**

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**Amanda Rollins POV**

It's probably about the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

Admitting my weakness.

My _flaw_.

To my partner.

After the unexpected – and quite frankly, terrifying – visit from Murphy and Parker, I sat in the driver's seat of my truck and cried.

Not because of the pain in my gut, although that hurt like a bitch, but because I could feel the walls closing in on me.

Even when I was down fifty large to that bastard, I didn't think I'd get caught. Because no one there knew who I was, and no one in my real life knew about my habit.

But Murphy's arrest…it was the beginning of the end for me, in the sense that my two worlds were about to collide.

I have to come clean with Cragen.

And he might very well fire me, I don't know. I haven't been around that long, and I can never tell for sure whether he likes me or not, but even if he does, this is a big no-no. Gambling leads to gambling debt which leads to favors…which is exactly why I told Murphy I was a bartender, but still…that cat is _so_ far out of the bag now.

But even knowing that Cragen was going to need to know, he wasn't my first call.

"It's me," I said when my partner answered his phone.

"We got something?" he asked.

"No, it's…can you meet me? Doyle's on Thirty-second."

And it didn't matter that it was late, or that I didn't say why.

"I'll be there in twenty," he answered in that gruff voice of his. Some might think he sounds a little scary. Angry or uncaring. But I know it's just him.

He hung up the phone after his succinct response, and his instant willingness to agree to the meet made me feel even worse.

_Because I was about to let him down._

And he's been the best damn partner…the mere thought of disappointing him is killing me. Because trust me, I've been through some partners. I know how vital it is to have a good one, and how much it can suck to be stuck with the wrong one.

Back in Atlanta, I had a handful of partners, the last one of which cornered me in an empty conference room and put his hands on me in a decidedly unpartnerly manner, and I nearly broke his fingers in an effort to get away.

From my_ partner._ How messed up is that?

"_Damn, Rollins, relax,_" he told me in that irritating, twangy Alabama drawl. And yeah, I'm from Georgia, but there's a difference to the accents. Trust me.

I could've filed a complaint. It might've taken root. But the good old boy system that's not unheard of in a place like New York City is unbelievably _rampant_ in Atlanta, Georgia, so more than likely the outcome of a complaint would get me the label of troublemaker. And I'd end up a target for future assaults.

So instead of fighting, I left.

I know. It's not like me to walk away from a fight.

But maybe in the back of my mind, I was thinking about getting out anyway. Getting away from my family…my sister…everything.

I did bring something with me though.

My dirty little secret.

I sat back in the seat and dried my eyes, annoyed by my display even though no one's around to see it, and then I started the truck and drove to Doyle's, where I went inside and found a seat at the bar. It's only been fifteen minutes, so I ordered a beer and willed myself not to get all teary-eyed – _again_ - while I make my confession.

But I will, I can feel it.

I'm so on edge…anxious and jittery and scared and unsure…damn, I hate feeling like this. It doesn't help that every television screen in the joint is broadcasting a game of some sort.

_I probably shouldn't even be in here. _

I kept my gaze away from the action and instead focused on the liquor bottles lining the back of the bar while I nursed my beer.

Without turning around, I felt Fin approach just a moment before he brushed his hand across my back as he made his way to the empty seat next to me.

"Hey," I said in an effort to sound casual. "Thanks for coming to meet me."

"It's all good. What's up?"

For a brief moment, I debated making up some excuse for asking him out. Something other than the truth.

Because what's he going to say? Is he going to want to bail on our partnership?

I guess I can't blame him if he does. And hell, it might not even matter what he wants. Cragen might fire my ass so fast that I'm on the next bus bound for Georgia.

_So the best thing I can do is the right thing,_ I reminded myself.

"Fin, I have a problem," I said at last.

And I don't know why I'm surprised that he _doesn't_ look surprised.

"That guy Murphy, right?"

His tone was…matter-of-fact, but not judgmental, so I took a deep breath and laid it out there for him.

How it started…what it evolved into…

"It's out of control," I concluded.

He asked how much, and I told him.

Twenty grand.

Twenty freaking thousand dollars.

It's a sickening number.

So then I told him how I've done my homework on Murphy. I don't know, I think I wanted to impress him, to show him that I'm not just some loser addict, to show him that I'm still _smart _even though what I've been doing is really, _really _dumb.

"Tonight, Murphy…knocked me around, he threatened me. He had that guy Parker with him for back-up…"

"He hit you?" Fin asked sharply.

"Yeah."

"Are you okay?" he questioned as he reached out to put his hand on my shoulder in an unexpected caring gesture that immediately brought tears to my eyes. I couldn't talk for fear of opening the flood gates, so I just nodded.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," I said at last, hating the weakness in my voice, and how it cracked on just that one word. I self-consciously put my beer to my lips and took a sip, but I had trouble swallowing around the lump in my throat.

Fin just sat watching me, and I don't know what he's thinking, but I feel like I have to say something to pre-empt anything bad he might be about to say.

I smiled hesitantly and asked, "Anything else you want to know about your new partner?"

"Okay, this is the deal," he stated firmly, and I can tell he's mad, but I'm not sure if it's at me. "We take these creeps off the street and let 'em know exactly who the hell _we_ are."

I exhaled with relief, since he seems to be on my side. At least a little. Maybe I don't have to tell Cragen after all…

"And then you're going to have to come clean to the captain," he finished.

He's right. I hate it, but I know he's right.

Of course, I still might need that bus ticket to Atlanta…

"Amanda," he said quietly. "You can do this."

"I know."

"The captain's a fair man. He'll be pissed, but he won't hang you out to dry."

I hope he's right.

"So…anymore bombshells you want to drop on me?" he asked, and when I looked over at him, I could see the beginning of a smile. With Fin, that's usually about as far as it goes. Just a hint of it. But it's enough for me.

"Not tonight," I replied.

"Good."

He signaled to the bartender for a beer, and then he glanced at mine and saw it was mostly empty, so he ordered one for me, too, and I sat there and just breathed.

"I can help you with your debt," he said after the beers were served and he'd taken a moment to down part of his.

"Fin, no. I can handle it."

"I don't want you owing money to people like that. It's dangerous, and it'll be tougher to quit. You _are_ going to quit, right?"

"Yeah. I have to."

"But do you want to?" he clarified. "There's a difference."

"I want to."

"Good. Then I'll cover you, and you can owe me instead."

"Fin…"

"What's twenty large amongst partners?" he interrupted with patented nonchalance, and then he smiled just a little bit more as he held my gaze, and I swear I feel like hugging him.

So I did.

I set my bottle down on the bar and leaned over towards him, throwing my arms around his neck and giving him a quick but meaningful squeeze.

It's strange, I know, and he totally wasn't expecting it, but I don't care. I just feel like this huge weight has been lifted, and I know I still have to deal with Cragen, but I'm starting to feel like I _can_, and that I'll be able to handle the outcome, whatever it might be.

We spent another hour or so in the bar, talking about random things. I think he wanted to make sure my head was in an okay place before sending me on my way.

And it mostly was, or at least as good as it could be.

The next day, Fin and Amaro rousted McCort's club, making several arrests including Murphy.

"Hey, Fin, what the hell was that?" Amaro called out to my partner once the perps were processed.

"What was what?"

"Murphy," Nick stated as he moved to stand in front of Fin, and my stomach dropped as the two of them stared at each other, neither saying a word for a long moment.

"He resisted," Fin said simply after another minute.

Nick held his gaze for a beat and then did this kind of half-nod, half-shake of his head as he turned around and went over to his desk.

"He resisted?" I questioned under my breath. "Please tell me you didn't…"

"Didn't what?" he interrupted. "Didn't give that bastard what he deserved? No, I didn't. But I gave him a taste of it."

I stared at him as he studiously ignored me and sat down in his chair.

"And if he comes after you again, I'll give him a little more," he continued without remorse.

I raised an eyebrow at him as he finally met my gaze.

"I can take care of myself," I assured him. "He just…caught me off-guard. It won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't," he agreed, although I think we're talking about two different things, but whatever.

And I'll admit it. My first response was to resent his overprotectiveness, but I quickly bypassed that sentiment because I know Fin better than that.

It's not because I'm a woman.

It's because I'm his partner.

And I'd do the same thing to any low-life who tried to jump him.

We looked at each other - him challengingly, and me…I don't know what – and it lasted so long that I felt some kind of weird shift in our dynamic. Or maybe it even started last night, when I hugged him, and I can't put my finger on it, but it's...it's…_some_thing.

"So did we get anything good from them?" I asked at last, shifting the topic to the professional, where it belongs.

He told me about McCort's remarks, and how he had payout money ready to go, and how it seemed like Sidney was a wet dream for a guy like McCort.

"So these guys didn't kill them," I said in frustration. "We're back to zero."

"That still doesn't change what you have to do," he prodded, referring to my confession to the captain.

Have I mentioned that Fin's a good guy?

He is.

So good that he gently insisted on going with me to talk to Cragen, in spite of my protests, and again, I know he's just looking out for me, so I let it ride. Besides, it didn't matter anyway because the captain was on his way out, and the baring of my soul was going to have to wait.

"Catch him when he gets back," Fin said as he stood solidly beside me. "You don't want to sleep on it."

"You think I could actually sleep?"

He smirked at me and then walked away as he said, "I don't know what you do in your bed, Amanda."

I snorted out a laugh at his unexpected remark and then followed him to our desks, refocusing on the case and shoving my personal issues from my mind until a couple of hours later when the captain got back to the squad room.

I gave him a minute to get in his office and then I took a deep, shaky breath and got to my feet.

"Well, if he cans me…it's been fun," I said to my partner, trying desperately to keep the mood light.

"Hey, Fin!" Munch called out. "You've got a call on three!"

"Just wait a second," Fin said to me as he reached for the phone. "I'll come with you."

"No, I got this."

I went into Cragen's office and came clean. I thought I was still one step ahead of the hit man, but Murphy had already played his cards, using my name in an effort to broker a deal. Asshole.

And Cragen was hot. Justifiably so, but for one scary moment, I really thought this was the end of the road for me. On its own accord, my hand gravitated towards my badge, my most prized possession, and I pictured what it would be like to have to give it back.

That's when I lost the handle on my emotions.

I can't believe I stood in my captain's office and cried, but I did. And he shared something of himself with me, too, and I started to see why Fin says he's a good man. I mean, I thought he was, but what you see of a person in day to day life isn't always an accurate depiction of how they'll respond in a time of need.

And I desperately need him. To understand my situation, to support me, to have my back…

"You're a good detective, Amanda. And I don't want to ruin your career."

"I don't want that either."

"So I'm going to get you some help," he concluded. "But you screw up again, and you're gone."

A knock on the door brought a quick end to our heart-to-heart, but I'm glad that it did or I might've started a round of shameless, relieved gushing of my gratefulness. Instead, he asked if we were good, and I nodded, and that was it.

Olivia and Nick came into the office, and I know Olivia saw my tears, but she was all business as she passed on news about the case to the captain. I'm sure she'll hit me up for details later, but I'm not about to tell her. Not that I don't trust her, but Fin and Cragen already know and that's two _more_ people than I ever planned on finding out about my addiction.

"You okay?" Fin asked when I got back to my desk after a quick trip to the ladies' room.

"Well, I've still got this," I said as I tapped my badge, appreciating the feel of it beneath my fingers.

"Step one was the hardest," he replied easily.

"Are you sure?" I asked, my nerves still a jumbled mess at the realization of how close I came to losing everything.

"No, but we'll get through it."

The next day, after we arrested Jimmy for the murders of Joan and Sidney, Cragen stopped by my desk and handed me a business card.

"Meet me there at eight," he said.

I glanced down and saw the name and address of a church in Brooklyn, and it doesn't take a detective to know it's for a GA meeting.

_Hi, my name is Amanda, and I'm addicted to gambling._

I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath, and then I felt Fin behind me.

"Call me when you're done."

"Why would I call you?" I asked as I tucked the card in my pocket and refocused on the paperwork in front of me. "You're right here."

"I mean, after the meeting," he said quietly, nodding towards the pocket that contains the business card. Fin doesn't miss much.

"You don't have to hold my hand through this," I argued lightly.

"And you don't have to do it alone," he replied.

"This is a little above and beyond the call of partnership, don't you think?"

He stared at me in that way of his, with his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. I've seen him do it to suspects a number of times, and it often prompts a confession, but I'm not sure what it is he wants me to confess.

"Partners?" he questioned when I remained silent. "I kind of thought we were more like friends."

Ah, so I'd pissed him off with my classification.

Of course I think of him as more than just my partner, but I'm also not comfortable forcing the issue, or taking advantage of his kindness. I'm the one without any friends in this city, not him. I'm the one with the almost career-ending addiction. I'm the one with the huge debt. I'm the one who brings absolutely nothing to the table.

And yet he's still standing there, just looking at me, waiting for me to respond.

"We_ are_ friends," I said, because damn it, I like him, and I have no idea why he cares about me, but he obviously does.

His expression relaxed slightly as he said, "Then when you finish the meeting, pick up the damn phone and call me."

It was after ten when the meeting finally let out, and when I came out of the church, my thoughts were all over the place. I didn't open up and share yet, but just listening to other people's stories, how eerily similar some of them are to mine…it kind of freaked me out a little.

I mean, I know the reasons for gambling. Insecurity, egotism, escape from reality…and I can see it in other people, but it really sucked having to sit there and consider my own faults. More than just the gambling, I mean. That's just a manifestation of the real problem.

"You made it."

My heart was in my throat and my hand on my weapon at the sound of the voice only a few feet away from me, and it took me a full second to realize that it was Fin.

"Holy shit, you scared me," I groused. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I told you I wasn't going to let you do this alone."

"Yeah, and I said I'd call you. You didn't have to resort to stalking."

He smirked at me as he came to a stop in front of me on the sidewalk.

"Stalking? You want to slap me with a TRO?"

"Maybe, yeah," I replied, my mood lightening just because of _his_ mood. And maybe because he took the time to come see me. And because it's nice to not always be by myself.

"So how was the first meeting?"

"It sucked," I complained, and I swear to God, he flashed me his biggest smile to date, and it made me smile right back at him.

"Sounds about right," he said. "There's a coffee house down the block. First cup's on me."

It went on like that for two weeks.

We'd work together all day, and then in the evening, I'd go to my meeting, and when I got out, he was always there waiting for me, no matter the time. We'd have coffee together and sometimes we'd talk about serious issues, but more often than not, he just made me laugh.

"You don't have to keep doing this," I told him when he approached me outside of the church at nearly eleven-thirty. It's a Wednesday night, and tonight was my fourteenth consecutive meeting. And it was the first night I shared.

"And miss out on that gourmet coffee?" he deadpanned as he fell into step beside me. "Not a chance."

"You're afraid that this GA thing won't stick," I stated. "If I have more time alone, I mean."

"Maybe I just like hanging out with you," he countered.

"You're stuck with me all day long."

"Yeah, so?"

"So…when was the last time you went on a date? I have to be cramping your style."

"You worried about my love life?"

"Do you have one?" I asked with curiosity.

"Not really."

Fin's not much for offering details about his life. Maybe that's why I've enjoyed our nighttime conversations so much. I've learned a lot about him, even if it's only two words at a time.

"So how was the meeting?" he asked as we went into the coffee shop. It's our standard repartee, and I always answer the same way.

"It sucked," I said with a grin. And then as we slid into our usual booth, I added, "But…I shared tonight."

He nodded carefully and then said, "So you might want something stronger than coffee tonight."

Because he knows me. He knows how hard it was for me to open up.

"Maybe later," I admitted. "I've got a bottle of wine at home."

And I don't know why, but my remark sounded suggestive. Like I'm inviting him back to my place.

And maybe I am.

I mean, let's face it. His is the most intimate relationship I've had in years, even though all we've ever done is talk. Well, and that one hug, but still…I feel closer to him than anyone in my life right now.

And I'm attracted to him. He's got this real, gritty quality about him that I like. Not to mention his straight-forward honesty that's pretty rare in men these days.

So even though I didn't necessarily intend for my comment to be an invitation, I'm willing to see where it goes. But I have no idea what he's thinking because he's just looking at me appraisingly.

"It's not a good idea," he said after nearly a minute, during which time I managed to actually feel nervous. Anxious. A little excited, maybe, over the possibility.

"Drinking wine?" I questioned ambiguously.

He sat back in the booth, regarding me reproachfully as he said, "You've always been a straight shooter, Amanda. Don't start playing games now."

I nodded acceptingly and picked up my coffee, stalling my response as I took a sip.

It feels a little weird that we're sitting here talking about…well, I'm not even sure what. Sex, maybe. Or at least _some_thing.

"Okay," I said after a moment. "Um…why isn't it a good idea?"

"So it _was_ an invitation," he clarified.

"Unintentional, but yeah. We've spent hours talking in this coffee shop. I don't see the harm in changing the venue and choice of drink."

And it hits me that I really want him to say yes.

That I really _want_ him.

I mean, I've had the fleeting thought before. I've dreamt about him a time or two. But I guess now that I know him on a more personal level, the attraction is stronger than just physical. We have a great chemistry together, one that's helped us click as partners almost from the very beginning, and I can just imagine that we'll be equally compatible in the bedroom.

"It's not a good idea," he said again.

"No?"

"You're kicking the book…we're partners…"

"You're not attracted to me," I said, adding to his list of objections.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't say you are, either," I pushed, and I don't know why, but it's suddenly important to me to know where he stands. Maybe because I thought something's been building between us, and I'd really hate to think it was all one-sided.

He exhaled in what sounded like annoyance as he sat back in the booth.

"Still betting on the long shot?" he asked.

I wasn't expecting the low blow and it rendered me mute, but my feet were still working just fine, so I got up from the table and shoved my hand in my pocket, seeking out a five to cover my tab.

"Amanda, wait," he said, reaching out to touch my arm. "I'm sorry."

"No, forget it. You're right. It's a bad idea."

I tossed the Lincoln on the table and headed for the door, ignoring Fin as he called out my name.

See, the baffling thing is that I can't decide if I'm mad or hurt.

With the benefit of having a few seconds under my belt, I think his comment was meant to be funny. Kind of a shot at himself, like maybe he thinks he's not good enough for me. I know he'd never purposely be mean, and by the time I hit the sidewalk, I was already over that part of it.

So it's the hurt that I'm left with.

The sting of rejection.

"Amanda!" he called out for at least the fifth time, and I can hear his footsteps as he runs to catch up to me, so I finally came to a stop.

"Fin, it's fine," I said as I turned around to face him. Because I can't let my bruised ego come between our great partnership. This has to be water under the bridge. Quickly. "I crossed the line, and I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," he said sternly. "I was being the asshole. I'm the one who's sorry."

We stared at each other for a moment, and I finally cracked a smile.

"Boy, this is awkward, huh? Wow, I really made a mess of things."

"It's my fault. If I weren't so damn handsome…" he joked, and I rolled my eyes at him, liking how his light comment changed the tone of the conversation, and we were instantly back to being okay with each other.

"That's right," I agreed. "I didn't stand a chance."

"Neither did I," he said meaningfully, his eyes still locked on mine, and my anxiety from before is back again and now it's mixed with some anticipation, too.

But I have to add in a dose of reality, too.

"You know, we can just forget about this whole thing, and we'll be fine, I promise. No hard feelings."

"Is that what you want?"

"No, but I'm pretty good at living with disappointment."

"You know I'm old enough to be your…much older brother, right?"

"Is that all you got? You're old and I'm not?" I asked.

"Hey, I didn't say I was old per se," he teased. "Just older than you."

"Uh huh. So the age thing's a deal-breaker?"

"Were we brokering a deal?"

"I'm asking you," I began carefully, feeling more emboldened with each passing second. "Do you want to go back to my place?"

He reached out and brushed my hair back from my shoulder and then rested his palm against the side of my neck, and if I was worried that it might feel strange to have my partner, my _friend_, touch me, that simple action put all of my fears to rest.

Because it felt titillating, and sensuous.

It made me want him to touch me more.

"For a glass of wine?" he asked, his voice even lower than normal.

"No."

"Good because I don't drink wine."

I barked out a laugh, and said, "I'll keep that in mind."

"It's still a bad idea," he said as he eased a step closer to me, his thumb stroking near my ear.

"Uh huh, you mentioned that."

And he's so close that I can't think about anything but kissing him, and yet it's so hard to take that first, nearly irrevocable step…

"Just wanted to make sure we're on the same page."

"Bad idea. Got it," I murmured, and then I leaned in, breaching that final inch of space between us and pressing my lips against his.

For a second or two, it was nothing more than my mouth against his, but then it quickly turned intense, passionate and demanding and…good.

Really, _really_ good.

"Okay, I was wrong," he said, smiling fully as he draped his arm over my shoulders and we started walking towards his car.

"About?"

"This is the best damn idea ever."

The End

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A/N: For those of you who are reading my LOCI stories, I'll be back soon, I promise. I'm easing my way back into fanfic, and after watching the season 13 marathon last week, I had to start with this one.


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